


Disposable

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, during the deleted scene, takes place in Heaven, when the disposable demon asks to hit Aziraphale, who's actually Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 00:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21235169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: What if the demon summoned to bring Hellfire to Heaven didn’t punch Aziraphale because they knew that the being sitting in front of them was no angel?





	Disposable

The demon knows.

They can’t put their clawed finger on it. They just know.

They feel it way down in their twisted and sour guts, sinking there like a stone, compelling them to _go_! _Get out as fast as they can!_

They weren’t entirely certain at first. There was too much going on to tell: the adrenaline of being upstairs in Heaven, where everything is bright and open and clean, looking down on everyone - Earth, Hell, and the lot. They could get on board with a job in the _head offices_, as they’ve heard it called.

Not the good deeds part, but the looking down on everyone.

_That_ they could definitely get used to.

They weren’t really paying too much attention when the Archangels brought the angel in and tied him to the chair. They didn’t have to. Most demons in Hell knew about Aziraphale. Crowley’s little pet, they called him. Rumor had it they dined together, drank together, went to museums and the cinema together …

… possibly did other, more _intimate_, human activities together.

Hastur in particular has long suspected Crowley of going native. And the demon overheard the Archangels say they had evidence of the two of them _fraternizing_. The demon hadn’t seen said evidence, but they didn’t particularly want to. They’d witnessed on a few occasions what humans did when they were fond of one another. If this angel and Crowley were doing those things, too …

Thinking about it was enough to turn their stomach, to be honest.

The demon had been tasked with bringing Hellfire to the angels for the purpose of disposing of this Aziraphale. In the meantime, some bigwig Archangel named Michael was headed downstairs to bring Holy Water to Beelzebub so they could execute Crowley. That didn’t quite sit well with the demon - not so much the executing, but this whole _working together_ thing. There had to be something behind it. Wasn’t there supposed to be a war? Weren’t they supposed to be fighting in it? Had things gone as planned, the demon would be holding a spear and skewering angels like rotting rat meat.

Why the sudden change?

As the demon thought about it, they found themselves more on their guard. They were alone up here in Heaven, surrounded by angels. Angels with access to Holy Water. Maybe this was a trap! This demon isn’t a Duke of Hell. They can create Hellfire but wielding it? A more experienced, higher ranking demon like Hastur would be better at doing that.

Why not send _them_?

Even with the pyre they set, the angels could subdue them easily. But an Archangel with an entire flask of Holy Water just marched themselves downstairs! Only a single drop of Holy Water is needed to destroy a demon. A whole flask?

That could take out all of Hell!

_‘Relax,’_ they say to themselves as they look from one Archangel to another. Not a single one seems at all interested in them. The three are completely focused on this pudgy angel and the crime that he’d committed. By the time the demon makes their way back down to Hell, the traitor Crowley will be destroyed, and then …

What?

What’s the plan for after that?

The demon doesn’t know.

But for now, as a “guest” of Heaven, in no apparent danger for the moment, they’re going to take some liberties. No one is compensating them for putting their life in danger.

They’re going to take their shot.

They didn’t get to fight in the war. They’re going to get one slug in at least. Come out the victor, if only by a technicality.

“I’ve always wanted to hit an angel,” they say. “Can I?”

“Go for it,” one of the Archangels says.

The demon chuckles.

They actually agreed! To let them hit an angel! In _Heaven_!

Yeah, okay, so no war, but could this day get any better?

The demon approaches the prisoner, ready to slug this fat sack of sludge in the face. It’s like a dream come true. The demon steps up, emboldened by their obvious position of power and yet the angel doesn’t seem afraid. He looks the demon in the eyes and gives them a slow half-smile. He’s defiant, like he’s confident he’ll still break free and win this. The demon has to admire that kind of defiance in the face of insurmountable odds. It’s inspiring.

But the expression on his face … it doesn’t strike them as altogether _angelic_.

And that makes the demon uneasy.

The demon doesn’t have much experience around angels, but they’ve had an entire existence dealing with demons. And being a demon, they can sense Evil a mile away. They thought the Evil they’d been sensing since they got there had been coming from themselves. Or possibly even the Archangels. They didn’t seem too much on the up and up, not the way the demon had been expecting.

But this Evil – this pulsing thrum ringing in their head like a familiar siren call – isn’t coming from the demon. Or the Archangels.

It’s coming from those clear blue eyes, those rosy cheeks … and that demonstrably wicked half-grin, which they realized, from this angle, only _they_ could see.

Which meant it isn’t for the Archangels.

It’s meant for _them_.

The more the demon looks into the angel’s eyes, the more they begin to suspect that whatever this pasty, creampuff of an entity is, it’s no angel.

The demon swallows down their own arrogance. The taste it leaves behind is fear.

The demon is a cog. _Disposable_, they realize, a cold, uncomfortable chill steeling their entire body. If Armageddon hadn’t been stopped, they would have been thrust to the front lines.

A pawn.

Cannon fodder.

Something bigger than them is going down here. They don’t know who planned it – Heaven or Hell. They only know that if they throw that punch, more than likely whoever this being is will have no problem tossing them underfoot along with everyone else.

Again, they don’t know.

But they’re not going to stick around and find out.


End file.
